To the winds with memorizing spells and counting mana points.
Dire Ape, I choose you!!!
Rotten piles of choss, that’s all that was left of the wizard’s tower, that’s it.
Pnathic sorcery has existed for ages, crudely used by magi who no idea the true forces they were fumbling with.
An article concerning the nature and role of druids in an RPG enviroment.
"a new (scientific) truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die, and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it."
War is the biggest business of the future.
Thus do the spirits of the six elements take form beyond the norm of elementals of genre fantasy.
Of creatures great and small
Be it salt, wheat, silk or gold, money is money lad.
The art of putting spells within spells.
The Sea that touches all shores.
A composite calendar devised by magi based on the movement of the stars rather than the movement of the moon or the sun.
Elven soldiers, elven armies? What a human, and therefore shortsighted, idea…
Athiyk student quote
Zufa is a trickster god, one who is cursed daily by those who suffer from his minor inconveniences.
Somewhat system specific, but bear with me.
Organic elements, flowing lines, and an absence of sharp angles and corners all are elements of the Elvenesque style of architecture.
In too many games, role-playing takes a back seat to Kewl Powerz, a tag given to the multitude of spell lists, special abilities, and innate powers claimed by a character. Many times this is a problem of munchkins, or blowing up stuff becoming more important in a game than role-playing though alternate personas.
In the royal year 451, also known as the year of Red Leaves, something strange occured. A star fell blazing from the heavens, in to the Midlands. Imperial Wizardry could be sent to examine the object. However things changed in the area. Royal Viziers were unable to postulate a cause for the matter, but the fact that none of the countyfolk were alive led to the whisper of one, chilling word. Zombie.
Recently unearthed this gem of mine, and thought to post it. Its writing predates my joining of Strolen, and I found quite a few interesting bits in it. It is nearly completely written and I am going to endeavor to finish writing it out. Until then, I plan to post it here, perhaps a section a day or so. Enjoy, expand, criticism, comment.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman